The Tragic Tale of Carmen The Black
by Despair-Blac
Summary: The Life and Times of a thief on the run from the law and herself


Carmilla, or the tragic tale of Carmen the Black  
  
Mortals, but more specifically in my case hume's, are generally driven by two natural and instinct based emotions. The first is the need to possess power and the second is greed. While some will try and trick you into believing the second is a matter of personal choice, I assure that this is not the case as I will so demonstrate in my story. Please, dear reader, forgive me for my vagueness in some arenas. I am writing this with only a small flickering candle as my light and seeing as though I am stowing away on an airship and the air current is jostling me around like a sack of wild onions, the details cannot be so faithfully reproduced.  
  
At the time of this production my title is Carmen the Dark, a named I earned most earnestly earned through years of unlawful dedication to a guild a thieves, however when I am finally set free from this atmospheric prison I will have been reborn Carmilla. And being a Red Mage and Carmilla being synonymous with "Red" it works. I suppose I should explain how I got to this point, and I warn you now, if you wish to read on I urge you to keep an open mind on my actions and not judge me until you have spoken with me personally. Thank you.  
  
I was born, quite graciously, into the bosom of Mr. and Mrs. Lavonia of the Qurtanian Linage. My father, Mikeal, was the Second in command to the President of the Bastokian Metalwork's and a part time pastor for Altana's Seam (a subsidiary of the "main-stream" religious faction) and my mother, Caqlian, was a sales representative for the Alchemist Guild in the Bastokian Mines. Such potential for greatness. They passed their expectations down to me and as a young girl I tried as diligently as I possibly could to please them. However, such a serene scene of life was not meant for me and on the eve of my tenth birthday my parents were the victims of a small Galkan Uprising in the mines and their bodies were never recovered. Interesting isn't it? How a situation so perfect and seemingly untouchable could shatter so quickly.  
  
There was Some dispute as to where exactly I was to be placed after my parent's death. I had no real living family and the closest thing I had to an actual relative was a half Aunt Tarutaru named Tituba. It was eventually decided that I would be placed in her care as my only other option was the Bastok City Orphanage and I was deemed too variable a future asset to the Kingdom to be brought down to that level. So two weeks after my tenth birthday I packed my humble belongings and moved to Aunty tituba's on the other side of town. My Auntie tituba was a horrid, tired little thing; shrunk even shorter than her race would normally dictate by stress and poorly prepared food. The women never liked me much, even form the beginning. She had an inert jealously for me and everything I represented and as such I was given the meagerness of accommodations. I slept in the Cellar, was forced to wear the most embarrassing garments and my only entertainment I had was what I made for myself. That was the first way Auntie Tituba helped me. By locking me up in that cold, damp cellar, which she also used for the storage of her many, books (being a Libran of course). I spent much of my years with her reading the plethora of books she held in my room one of which particularly caught my eye. It was a book on thieving and the finer art of burglary. The novel illustrated a thief as being a cunning and intelligent being, capable of surviving on their own, relying sourly on herself for support and in need of no one. When I turned the plump age of 15 I began to attend meetings with a small group of friends I had met at school who were also intrigued by the idea of thievery. At night we would sneak away from our homes and practice breaking into abandon homes, honing our skills and occasionally robbing weak drifters and slum communities. When I hit the peak of 19 years old I received my first job as a customs clerk for the Bastok South Auction House.   
  
As a clerk, all items being held up for auction given to us by adventures of Vanadiel passed through my desk. I was privilege to seeing all sorts of fantastic and rare treasures; gems and animal hides, elaborate swords and, most importantly Magic Scrolls. Now of course if my eyes occasionally slide down from my accounting tables and read the scrolls, partly committing them to memory and partly decreasing their selling value as being used, it would merely because of accidental coincidence. However, like most situations in my life, good things rarely last and I was betrayed. It seemed a former member, of a most elvaan decent, of the small Thieving Group I had belonged to had begun a crusade of rehabilitation and had systematically pointed out the location and personal information of every member in the Group, except, up to that point, me. Having overheard the Bastok Guard speak to my Forman I quietly got up from desk and raced home to grab a few things and escape incarceration. When I arrived at home I found my dear old Auntie dead and withering, a victim of a most Hanes and unknown murder. Without time to even acknowledge what had happened I grabbed my things and every available spell scroll I could find and hopped out the back kitchen window just in time to see my former front door being smashed down by the local authorities. So I stowed away on an airship bound for Jeuno, making good use of the most recent spell I had borrowed-invisible.  
  
So here I am now. Half way, I believe, to my destination and amazingly still in one emotional piece. I will cease my scribing for now. If you wish to learn more about my life and what I plan to do once I get to jeuno, do find me. That is, if you CAN find me. Someday I will return to Bastok, someday when I dont have to cower like a dog in the shadows and sneak like a frightened little rat. And rest assured dear reader, when I do, the entire world will remember the Fear inspiring name of Carmen the Black  
  
/ pets the petal of her favorite red rose, Lillian, and sighs.  
  
Flowers are queer little creatures arent they? Unparalled in beauty and mystique, yet absolutely useless to us, it is bizzare that I am drawn so deeply towards them. Take for example this rose, a red rose. So simply constructed, such a deep blood red colour red....and look at it's thorns; we know we arent to touch them but they intice us so.  
  
/plucks rose from vase and crumples bud in her hands, throwing the mess to the floor.  
  
Useless. Like so much these days. In fact as every day passess, as I slip further and further into an unescapable void. Stuck as Carmilla, trapped in this hovel of a dwelling. I suppose I should catch you up on the events which has happened since last you heard from me. Even though I havent any idea if you (my mysterious reader) care about what happens to me, I feel the need to write to you. I havent had a conversation; a nice, civil conversation with any other person in a long while. In fact I cannot recall the last time I smiled. Smiling, among other things, is also a usless wretched habit I believe.  
  
When I escaped my airborne prison, apporiximately 13.5 minutes after my last scribbing, and landed with a heavy "thud" into the water filled dock of Jeuno; I soon realized stepping off board with the other passengers would land me right into the arms of the Jeunoain Authorities. And as the two guards at the port were obviously checking faces I had to think of a solution with much haste. Quitely, silently, I crawled out from beneath my wooden bastille and hid in the corner of what appeared to be a storage room for luggage. As an abnormaly tall and very constipated looking Mithra stepped into the room, I discovered for the first time, a sensation of pure evil. Upon noticing me standing in the room, dripping wet and smelling like absolute death, the mithra screamed an earpiercing screech which was abruptly ended by my knife finding its way into her septum. Poor dear. She was hidious, there was no denying that, but within the weaves of her raven black hair she had placed a beautiful bright Crimson rose in the small crevace between her ear and hair. I snatched the rose from the pathitc feline (as well as her clothes) and as I opened the door, hoping for a quiet escape, three saliors who patroled the ship while it was docked saw the body behind me and realized what I had done. "Rose!" one of the seamen shouted, an obvious associate of the former cat "You heartlesss monster!" It seemed there was only one way out of the situation. The saliors would have to join thier Mithra commrade in the afterlife. The uglier, more emotional one, rushed toward me hoping perhaps to tackle me. I easily slide to the left of the oncoming man and immediately jammed my blade into his neck, effectively ending his life. His two friends where extremely suprised at the outcome of thier dead friends assult and they both unshethed thier swords in rebute to my action. Aware that my meager dagger would fail to be an appropiate defence against two blades, I decided to go for a more magical stratgey.  
  
After mumbling a few incantaions, I sent a wave of pure, red and indigo flame, bursting through the passage ways of the ship; engulfing the two would-be heros and igniting the majestic airship in fire. I could hear the desperate screams of the rest of the crew as they searched for a way out.The two Jeunonian Gurads out on the dock instantly became aware of the situation and upon investigation were witness to what must have been a terriying sight. Flames were slowly and violently eating the hull and deck of the ship and the engraved Blossom Wood began to moan under the stress. Blindly, I threw one of the deceased saliors schimtar's through the fire and out into the dock. Luckily for me it landed directly into one of the soliders breasts. As I walked through the threshold of the ship, the flames peeling off me and out onto the loading dock, the other, still living solider, raised his great Silver sword to me. I was an invisible figure, identified only by the bloody dagger floating by my side.   
  
"Who, who, what are you?!" he yelped haplessly.  
  
"I am Carmen the black you miserable shit and dont ever forget it." I replied, forgetting my alias.  
  
"C-C-Carmen the Black, the bilaws of the Jeunonian Governement forbid me to allow you to p-pass and dictate that I d-deatin you. I order you to halt th-this instant and-" Before the pathetic Trainiee was able to finish reciting his speech I shoved him off the dock and into the icey salt-flavored sea. Since his heavy armour prevented from him from successfully staying afloat, he drowned with an afordable effort.  
  
I walked past out onto the street, laughing as the hoards of Jeunonian Guards rushed by the very person they would soon be searching for. Perhaps I shouldnt have killed those innocent people. But why shouldnt they die? Auntie was murdered as an innocent. It happened and it is over with. Clinging to useless memories is not a pastime I enjoy.  
  
/picks a red amarylis and inhales the sweet smell  
  
Eventually I found myself at the door of a Junk Shop in Lower Jeuno, replying to a help wanted sign. The owner had no manner of decent curtosy but asked absolutely no questions and gave me a small room to call my own in the back of his shop. Its cold in this drafty room and it reminds me old cellar in Bastok. From that one rose I took on that ship so many weeks ago, I have now produced dozens of magnificent blossoms and my room is the undisputed diamond in lower Jeuno. So here I sit. Tired and alone save for my roses. I am not sure what I am going to do next, but I fear I cannot stay here much longer. The old man who owns the shop is spending an uncomfortable amount of time down at the Bastok Embassay. He may soon have to be taken care of.  
  
Sincerly yours dear reader  
  
Carmen the Black.  
  
-Interesting to note, the other night as I was changing into a night gown I had bought with my very first pay check I noticed a tall dark, sliver haired shadow standing, 20 or so odd yards from my window sill. Perfectly sure it was a bounty hunter I, in one motion, threw a dart at the shadow and unsheated my cutlass only to find the stranger gone. All that was in his place was a white Rain Lily. I stomped on it without delay but I somewhat wished he would have stayed. I am quite lonely, and even if he had the intent of killing me at least he would have stayed and needed me. I havent been needed in a while. I'm...well as useless as this here flower  
  
/puts flower back into vase and, blowing out the candle next to her bed falls asleep, alone.  
  
And where the moutains meet the heavens above and where the lighting splits the sea, I can swear there is someone somewhere watching me.......  
  
It was only a matter of time.  
  
/pulls out a crumpled parchment from her back pocket and, with the aid of a drying ink pen, begins to scribe once again.  
  
The inevitable is rarely escapable. For instance; I knew that eventually I would be incarcerated for the crimes I committed and I also knew that for them I would most certainly be executed. I just never expected it to happen so suddenly. The first happening that is. My left leg is completely inoperable at the present time and as such I am forced to limp about like a damned hunchback until it decides to become useful again. You may, or may not (regardless), wonder where I am, why on earth I'm there and why I was inexcusably shot in the leg; and since I am scheduled to stay where I am for quite some time, I have no pains in describing the details to you.   
  
Presently, I am being held in the lower Women's quarter of the San d'Oria capitol Detention facility. If you have the capability to believe it, this establishment is actually a welcome change to the drab backroom of that smelly Junk Shop. I do miss my darling roses though..  
  
/pulls out a small patch of various seeds, all shapes colours and sizes. A variable sea of tiny, life sprouting gems and crystals.  
  
After my initial capture at the RuLude Gardens in Upper Jeuno, I was sentenced in a small claims court and spent three weeks in a filth infested public jailhouse near the Port. After a background check was finally completed however, and my true identity and crime record had surfaced, I was immediately sentenced to the Female Containment Prison in Sand d'Oria, Le Femme Fatale, to await further punishment. Due to my former experiences with Airships, it was deemed much safer to escort me to Sand d'Oria via a caravan of riders and knights. While passing through the Junger Forest my instincts as a thief took over and I foolishly attempted to escape my captors in the thicket of the Forest. My position within the caravan was dead center, in a small iron carriage that was terribly hot and very dark. Spratic holes had been made in the chassis of the vehicle allowing me to breathe however they were made few in number, limiting my oxygen and thus weakening me terribly. Upon stopping for a rest at the Outpost in the Forest, the main group of escourter's demounted their chocobo's and went inside for some ale and cheap sexual gratification. Only one, very young and very stupid Squire was left to watch my carriage. Apparently, none of the Knights or Riders who were to escort me were aware of who or what exactly was in the Carriage. They were told not to communicate with the prisoner and under no circumstance were they to open the vehicle's door until arriving at their destination. The young, and stupid child who had been placed as my soul guard for the moment, was extremely tired and as such, leant against the carriage door, hoping maybe for a quick nap. Taking full advantage of the situation, and quickly assessing my opponents weaknesses I began to cry softly within my cell. Startled to hear such a beautiful whimper, the young lad quickly arouse and questioned the sound.  
  
"Hello, um, hello? Is someone crying?" He said.  
  
"Aye," said I, "I am kind sir." With much suprise the boy turned to the carriage door and leant in close.  
  
"A lady? Fair damsel, what are you doing in there? Where is the ogre we are escorting to Sand d'Oria gone?" He asked.  
  
"He is still here sir, but asleep for the moment. I am so terribly frightened," I moaned.  
  
"But what in Altana's name are you doing in there?" He said.  
  
"Forgive me sir." I said, completely immersed in the part. "My name is Carmilla. I am a flower girl from Lower Jeuno. Or at least I was." More Pugils tears issued forth.  
  
"Good lady, how did you end up in there?" He said.  
  
"I was caught stealing bread for my poor blinded farther four days ago. Instead of taking me to the Le Femme like they should have, they threw me in here with this terrible beast. I am to be his source of entertainment on the way to his imprisonment. He has already ripped me of any dignity I once possessed and I fear he may soon gobble me up."  
  
"My dear lady.." The Squire replied.  
  
"Please sir, open the door for but a moment so I can escape. I beg you sir, Altana will bless you for life for you kindness, please."  
  
"I may be a knight in train-I mean a Knight of Jeuno, and have sworn me allegiance to my Kingdom, but I know when injustice is done and this is one such instance. Stay back my lady, I will open the door just so, and if that ogre should attack, I will slay him in your name!"  
  
"Oh Sir," I said, "You have my eternal gratitude."  
  
Slowly and cautiously, the young fool unlocked the dozen different locks on my cell's door and when finished, ever so slightly slid the door ajar.   
  
"I'm afraid I'm too weak to move on my own sir. Could you please extend your hand so I able to use it as leverage. Worry not for the beast still sleeps."  
  
To my pleasant suprise, the young man decided not to head my suggestion of extending his hand into the chamber but instead protruded his entire neck and head into the cavity of the Carriage. Unable to see the ogre, but able to see me, wrapped in almost nothing but rags, he stuttered.  
  
"Lady Carmilla?"  
  
Smiling warmly I replied, "Carmen." And in one motion, slammed the door shut on the Squires neck, effectively snapping it, and dragged him inside.  
  
When the Knights eventually returned from their rest inside the Outpost and mounted their Birds, they asked the squire if anthing had gone wrong in their absence. The Squire, who's helmet seemed to be falling off of his slim face, shook his head no and the caravan continued. I have noticed that in life details are perhaps the most important aspect of any given situation. Details, in essence, can mak or break even the most masterfully crafted plots. Such was the case for my own plan. Before reaching a small makeshift bridge, which connects the banks of the small river that snakes through the shrub and trees of the forest, one of the guards noticed that the very last lock on the door of my prison had been unlocked and upon discovering this the caravan halted. On closer inspection, the guard soon realized all the locks had been unlocked and with a heavy dose of rage turned towards me, the squire incognito, questioning me on what the hell had happened. Without answering I immediately got off my horse and walked toward the fuming man. Just as he was about to backhand me for the insolence of not answering his inquires, I unsheathed the squires sword and jammed it into the mans stomach. Before I was able to even think what to do next, the other knights quickly drew their blades and shouted threats of death at me. Without removing the blade from the now dead captain, I ignited the sword with flame which in turn ignited the man on fire. I shoved the mass of flesh and flame toward my attackers and what happened next was both genius and pure stupidity at once. I began muttering incations which stopped my attackers in their place and without delay began to commence my plan. Step one had already been accomplished, I had successfully escaped my cell now all that was left was to escape in once piece. Needing to get rid of carriage wasn't a necessity but assured that my capture and containment would be near impossible if the knights were somehow able to remove themselves from my spell. Slicing the back of the vehicle's driver; An overgrown Lizard, sent both the beast and the carriage into the bridge which was much too weak to support such weight. With a tremendous crash, both lizard and carriage were sent crashing into the river and, hoping on a chocobo and riding away, My escape seemed inevitable. Upon reaching the threshold of the forest, and seeing the tall trees of the La Thien Plains, I slowed my chocobo down to a trot, confident, over confident, that I was free once again. All of the sudden and seemingly popping out of thin air, a tarutaru, dressed all in onyx, stepped in front of my steed.  
  
"You pathetic little wretch, get out of my way!" I shouted.  
  
"Carmen the Black?" He asked.  
  
"Who has the pleasure of wanting to know?", I replied. Without warning and with god-like speed, the little bounty hunter pulled a small pearl plated pistol from beneath his dark cloak and fired two shots. One, straight into the brain of my bird and the second into and out of my upper leg. As the bird and I slammed to the dirt, I cursed myself for not just running the little bastard over in the first place.  
  
Evidently, but not to my suprise, the Jeunonian Authorities had hired Bounty Hunters as an extra precaution that had been secretly tracking the caravan as it made its way toward its destination. Their orders were to kill on sight however it seemed this taru had some shred of decency in his heart and kept me alive. When the Knights were finally rleased from my spell, they dragged me back to the outpost and locked me in a room while another carriage was being sent from Jeuno. A medic at the Outpost did what he could to keep me alive and I felt compelled to thank him but didn't out of spite. My new carriage was identical to the last save that once I was safely tucked inside it, the seems of the vehicle were welded shut. I wasn't getting out of there again and I did not have the energy to try. When wereached Sand d'Oria almost a week after our departure from Jeuno and upon doing so, one rainy and miserable night, my cage's seems were melted back open. I had been deprived of full oxygen for so long that when I took my first deep inhale outside I immediately blacked out. When I awoke I was here, trapped once again, though this time in a more accommodating environment. A white Rain Lily had been placed in my hair by someone, the exact same flower, it seemed, from my encounter with the silver haired fellow so many months before. I suppose you'd like to know the circumstances for how exactly I was captured in the first place and I would be more than willing to share them with you, however I am still weak and all of this jogging of my memory has tired me greatly. A kind old mithra women collects any letters the women here may has and distributes them to the outside world. Hopefully this letter will find you, whoever you are dear reader. Until next I write. Farewell  
  
Carmen the Black. 


End file.
